


Method Men

by Amber Madeleine (pansexualbeast15)



Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017) RPF
Genre: Eventual Smut, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-02
Updated: 2018-03-05
Packaged: 2019-03-25 22:11:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13844067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pansexualbeast15/pseuds/Amber%20Madeleine
Summary: The course of true love between two costars never did run smooth. Apologies to William Shakespeare.





	1. Just Two Boys Wrestling

**Author's Note:**

> This is a work of fiction. Imagination is a naughty, heartbreaking,beautiful thing. 
> 
> Any and all mistakes are my own.

Chapter 1

Four days before the Oscars and the glorious, good looking CMBYN fandom was preoccupied as ever with doing the Goddess’s work and following the trail of bread crumbs that Timmy and Armie had so kindly left for them in the form of eye fucking and inappropriate crotch gazing in countless videos, Armie inviting Timmy on a Hammily vacation, this time to the Cayman Islands where Oliver—I mean Armie-- grew up like a devil may care coconut cracking one person charm offensive with a decent helping of angst who longed to be more like the Home Alone kid than Richie Rich.

Armie publically declared that he now sees Timmy in his memories. They have a broship like no other before them. Armie has thought more than once about writing a screenplay about his special connection with his special Timmy but thought nah, that would be too meta. Even for him. The Luca angel? Devil? Dad? on his right shoulder raised its eyebrows high into his receding hairline at that. Ever since Call me by Your Name wrapped, Armie couldn’t get Luca’s voice out of his head. His elegant, slightly stern accent narrating his entire day—but he didn’t mind. Armie didn’t like being alone. Not even when he was pissing. And he had dropped enough acid in his 31 years on earth that he was super used to weird inexplicable shit. Fuck. He lived for that shit.

Four days before the Oscars, Armie feels like he’s been up for 24 hours. He’s been trying to cram in all the nominated films like a good Academy member. Immerse yourself! commanded Luca. Armie started with the bizarre and fantastically dark plus kinky as fuck! The Phantom Thread and ended with Get Out because Timmy said Daniel was super awesome and a fantastic actor. What a fucking gleefully subversive devastating social critique. Mind. Fuck. Amazing. Good, corrected Luca in his head. Which was generally his highest praise.

When he wasn’t watching movies, Armie played poker with Michael Stuhlbarg when he could or pool with Nick or some other member of the Tracksuit Brigade, played pirates with Hopsy and Ford, and let himself be dressed by his lovely stylist Ilaria in a variety of questionable polo shirts and loud pants.“Ilarious,” he whispered in her ear at a photo shoot while she just rolled her eyes.

“Whatever, Hammer.” It’s because of me that people are loving pics of you in pajama pants.”  
“Thighs of gold, baby, thighs of gold.” Armie joked and slapped his god given quads.

Liz, sweet Liz, told him that while he was handsome enough to be able to wear a garbage bag and still look good, she still wished he would take his sartorial advice more often. But Liz had scored with her tracksuit inspired outfit so major wife points must be awarded. Truth is, he didn’t give two fucks what he wore in public most of the time. The dog and pony show would be over in a few weeks and he could go back to wearing whatever the fuck he wanted most of the time. Whether that was Paul Newmanesque classic white tee blue jeans or Italian mafioso tracksuit or his little European swim trunks which yup, he stole from the set and he liked to call Oliver without his balls digitally removed thank you very much. If you like, we keep balls in for the sequel, yes? said Luca in his head, earning a rapid headshake from Armie. Sometimes he was even known to pair a suit with a floral tie to his kid’s pre-k event because his daughter picked it out and he would do anything to make her happy.

Armie hoped he was being a good dad to his kids. The kind of dad he needed growing up.He didn’t need trolls questioning his parenting skills like with that one Instagram of him throwing Hopsy in the air because god knows he was critical enough of himself and worried every time he wasn’t there to tuck his kids in at night. Armie didn’t like being alone but he didn’t want his kids to be alone either, like he felt growing up. That’s why he liked to keep a village of people in his house. Not just to drink or get high with him, but to be there for Hops and Ford if they needed a pop tart, help finding a missing block or had some big burning question like why is the sky blue? And no one was a better friend in this regard than Timmy. Maybe because he was a big kid himself, or maybe because he just had such a big heart, but Timmy really loved his kids. So much that sometimes he’d come over and just play Legos and Princess Tea Party with Ford and Hopsy never complaining if Hops wanted him to wear her little tiara atop his dark mop of curls.

“So, should I call you Princess Timmy now?” said Armie as he stood in the doorway to the playroom looking on in amusement.

“Princess Timmy! Princess Timmy!” Hopsy sang as she bounced up and down in her tiny green daisy emblazoned chair. Armie’s face lit up as it always did whenever one of his kids was being adorable and Timmy just. couldn’t. resist.  
“Okay King,” he giggled and blew a kiss in Armie’s direction and something in the older man’s heart fluttered. That kid, he thought. He’ll be the death of me.

Four days before the Oscars, Timmy was in his ridic expensive room at the Chateau Marmont, nervous limbs sprawled out on the immaculate white duvet trying to write his acceptance speech on his phone while trying not to squee too hard that the Weeknd had suddenly followed him. Fuck. What a legende!!! He made a note on his phone to add some Weeknd tracks to the mix he was making for Armie. When they were getting to know each other their first weeks in Crema, Armie had burned him a CD of his favorite songs which was like so xennial of him but also super nice? Such a best friend/brother/mentor/road map thing to do.

“Thanks, old man,” he had teased, always teasing, even in those early heady days of new friendship, bumping his fragile bird shoulder against Armie’s massive deltoid as they sat on his messy bed in their small yet tasteful apartment in beautiful Crema. Timmy’s room was right across from Armie’s but he spent most of his days and nights wherever Armie was. You must live together. Be together. Just be. Just live. Luca had said from day one. Fuck that man was deeper than deep. Timmy looked around, noticed one of his shirts crumpled on the floor and a hopefully empty, greasy bag of chicken nuggets on the bureau. He knew that if he peeked into his own room he’d see Armie’s boxing gloves, some of his humongous history books and some other shit. He was always leaving shit in Timmy’s room.

Timmy turned over the CD and looking at the handwritten playlist. Pretty eclectic mix. He stifled a giggle when he saw track 4: Jack Johnson’s tender ballad “Banana Pancakes” and shook his head when he read the name Alien Sex Fiend and the song “New Christian Music” on track 8 like Wtf was that music even. “This is some weird shit, old man.”

“Oh my sweet young naïve friend,” Armie said fondly, rubbing Timmy’s curls. “You have much to learn. I’ll have you know my music is good shit.”

Timmy smiled, leaning into Armie’s hand to continue being petted. This. This was good shit. Just chilling with Armie. 24/7. All the fucking time. He couldn’t remember the last time he had hung out nonstop with one of his NY homies who were all awesome and loyal as fuck. But still. God he loved being an actor. This was his life now! How fucking surreal was that.

Armie ran the CD slowly down Timmy’s right arm, making him shiver when he pressed the sharp edge of the case into the delicate flesh of his elbow. “Want to play it?” Okaaay, was Timmy just imagining it or did Armie’s voice just drop an octave?

“Maaybe,” Timmy smirked. He was not going to make this easy for him. Because Armie was fucking hilarious when you got him going. “Not sure I’m drunk enough yet, dude.”

“You asshole,” Armie laughed and yanked on Timmy’s hair hard. Timmy yanked Armie’s hair even harder in return and two men started grabbing each other’s hair and laughing uncontrollably until Armie was gasping. “I can’t breathe. I need another drink.” Armie grabbed a Peroni from the side table and Timmy watched in fascination as he popped it open expertly with his blinding white teeth. He stared at his throat as Armie took a hearty slug and swallowed. Armie caught him looking and grinned. “Want something?”

“Haha yeah.” Timmy hoped he was sounding nonchalant and airy AF when he felt anything but. “Got anything besides Italian beer, old man?”

Armie locked eyes with Timmy and downed the rest of his beer. “You know me.” He licked his lips. “Method.” He ran his finger along the lip of the bottle. “All the way.”

Timmy gulped and hoped his voice wouldn’t squeak. “Haha yeah.” Damn.” I mean yeah. Not as method as me, old man.”

“Stop calling me that,” Armie growled and poked Timmy in his skinny chest.

“Make me,” Timmy said, finally feeling bold.

“Oh I’ll make you. It’s rehearsal time, bitch,” Armie shouted, grasping him by the shoulders and pushing him back on the bed. Timmy fought valiantly to get back up but he was no match for the golden beast of pure muscle that was Armie Hammer. The two costars wrestled for an hour or more, punctuating different moves they’d seen during wrestling documentaries with heavy breathing and grunting. They were just rehearsing. Fully clothed. Totes bff behavior. At least till Armie got hot and sweaty and had to take his shirt off, throwing it at Timmy who seconds ago he had put in a headlock, not that Timmy seemed to mind. “Keep it.” The bastard actually winked at Timmy. “Think of it as a consolation prize.”

“Okay Oliver,” smirked Timmy, holding the shirt away from him and wrinkling his nose.

“Whatever Elio,” said Armie rolling his eyes. “I’ll have you know. That’s prime man musk right there. One day maybe you can smell like me.” Timmy’s eyes widened. Did Armie realize what he was saying half the time? His gaze lingered on the sweat glistening on Armie’s chest. “I’m fucking drunk!” he bellowed, flipping over and burying himself in a bunch of pillows, slightly raising his butt.

“And yet you can still act so damn well…” Timmy trailed off, addressing Armie’s rather shapely posterior.

“Wasn’t acting,” Armie mumbled and Timmy thought to himself, when? When was Armie not acting? When was he? Fucking hell. He was too young to have an aneuryism but his anxiety just wouldn’t let up sometimes.

“Me neither,” Timmy whispered after a moment, hoping Armie heard it, hoping he wouldn’t remember, hoping he would and flopped right next to him. He let out a breath that he didn’t know he was holding and reached for the light switch. “Night, dude.”

“Mm. Night.” Armie stretched out a chiseled arm and flung it across Timmy’s slender back. The weight seemed to push the stress out of Timmy and he finally relaxed and dared snuggle closer to his friend.


	2. Nurse Timmy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Who better to take care of a sick Armie than his nurse Timmy...There will be a sponge bath..

Chapter 2

Independent Spirit Awards, 3/3/18

On the stage, the presenter Nick Kroll says: “Can we say it? Dramatic pause. Cum peach!” The crowd titters appreciatively. The camera pans to the CMBYN table and to Timmy who is holding his phone up.

“Did you hear that?” 

Armie nods, tears of laughter streaming down his face and onto his naked hairy chest. Timmy is worried because his bff has already lost enough fluids due to being sick. And besides, there’s something about Armie’s tears that just… damn. Were his eyes always as blue as Oliver’s Billowy? Luca pats his shoulder to get his attention and peek at Armie. Oh shit! Timmy realizes he’s been caught by the all-seeing eye of the camera so he turns his phone to show the world who he’s been FaceTiming with during the ceremony, mistakenly thinking it would be worse if he didn’t. Poor kid was already razzed about his outfit earlier that evening. Timmy’s neck goes all red so naturally he scratches it and tries valiantly not to blush even harder. Armie, who gets a kick out of not only displaying his gorgeous pecs to the world but mercilessly teasing his young costar and loving to see that he got a rise out of him, guffaws merrily.

It isn’t till later when his publicist is poring over the internet exploding over the absolute adorable evidence of Timmy and Armie’s special friendship that he starts blushing even harder, his mind going a mile a minute. Wtf? Of course Armie wasn’t naked. Why would people say that?! I mean… maaaybe he was? Why should he know? Naked or not, Armie was covered by a sheet, thank you very much so it’s not like he could see through it or anything. Timmy snorted. Nothing he hadn’t seen before. And anyway Armie’s a furnace so of course he was shirtless. Timmy remembered that night in Crema when he and Armie fell asleep on the bed together after wrestling and rehearsing. Italy could get chilly at night so he was grateful to borrow some of Armie’s sun god type heat. That was the only night that happened…

Timmy is interrupted by his phone buzzing. Liz. Timmy waves to his publicist and looks for an empty room so he can have privacy.

“Liz! Hey! Wanna FaceTime?”

“Not right now, Timmy. Not looking or feeling my best.”

“You always look nice but sorry to hear that. Armie told me him and the kids got a stomach bug. How are Hops and Ford?”

“Being brave little babies. They’re handling being sick better than Armie is. Playing together nicely and quietly. They managed to eat some grapes which is good and they stopped throwing up for now but it’s always so scary when you’re a mom. I won’t have a moment’s peace until they’re well again.”

“They’re going to be just fine. You’re a great mom.”

“Thanks, Timmy. And you’re a great babysitter.”

“You think I could make a career out of it?” Timmy jokes.

“How about just watch the kids on a few date nights?” Liz laughs. “I think you should stick with your day job. Congrats on the award, Timmy. No one deserves it more than you.”

“Aw thanks, Liz.” Timmy feels himself reddening and scratches his neck again. “Armie deserved to win, too.”

“Yes he did.”

“Listen, I fucked up,” he whispers. I was so nervous. I really didn’t think I would win. And I forgot to thank him. I feel so fucking bad about that.”

“He’ll live. It’s okay, Timmy. You were nervous. You only have so much time to say your speech. He understands that. You’re not required to mention him every time,” she says gently.

“He should have been here, Liz. It wasn’t the same without him. I don’t mess up half as bad when he’s around. I need”-

“That’s actually why I’m calling.”

“Shit shit. Are you pissed about the FaceTiming thing? I was being stupid. I’m sorry.”

“What? No, not at all. You know Armie loves the attention. And it was really funny.”

“Are you sure? I feel bad. He’s your husband-”

“Yes, he is. And I knew what he was like when I married him,” said Liz firmly. “Listen, Timmy. I have a big favor to ask. I need you to come over as soon as you can. I have my hands full with Hops and Ford and even though Nick is here to help-“

“Nicks’ there? That’s good. I’m glad there’s someone else in the house with everything you’re dealing with.” Timmy and Nick were buds too. He liked that Nick didn’t seem bothered by his close friendship with one of his oldest friends. Maybe that’s why he liked hanging with older dudes so much. They seemed waaay above the petty bullshit of some of his peers and so-called friends. Too much jealousy, man. That just wasn’t Timmy’s way. It just wasn’t European. The French were never bothered by shit like that. His parents didn’t even blink when he told them excitedly all about the unorthodox Hammily whose oldest friend lived with them and didn’t really seem to have a job.  
Of course, Timmy was conveniently forgetting that Armie was extremely jealous. But then jealousy looked cute on Armie somehow. Like when he got all possessive over Timmy like not even a week after they met. Whenever Timmy would flirt with the cute Crèma girls and Armie would always find a reason to pull him away before things went too far. Yeah, Timmy loved it when Armie got jealous. But he didn’t want to unpack that thought. Nope. Not at all. Especially not when he was talking to Armie’s wife. Shit, he kind of zoned out there for a minute. 

“Dear Nick never seems to get sick but I need a break or I’m afraid I might get sick as well. And Armie has been asking for you.”

“He-he has?” Timmy is taken aback but he shouldn’t be. It’s not like he and Armie don’t talk all the time. Talking isn’t always enough, he guesses. He’s just kind of touched? that even while sick, Armie is still thinking of him. He’s had great friends but never, never like Armie. He hopes he is worthy of the older man’s devotion.

“Yes. Of course, he is slightly delirious, but I know he’d want his best friend by his side. I know it’s a lot to ask. You should catch up on your sleep and you have another big day tomorrow but he won’t stop saying your name in that croaking voice he gets when he’s sick.” Liz imitates her husband. “Timmy Timmy.”

Timmy laughed. “That’s an awesome impression. I’ll catch an Uber and be there as soon as I can, Liz.”

“Thank you so much. You’re a lifesaver, Chalamet.”

Timmy grinned into the phone. “What can I say? I aim to please.”

“You certainly do. I can see why you and Armie are such great friends.”

“You’re my friend too, Liz,” Timmy said earnestly. He didn’t want Liz to feel left out. “We’re all friends.”

“Yes, well. Thanks again. I’m going to disappear into my chambers and try to get some rest. See you in the morning.”

“I’ll make banana pancakes. If anyone is up to eating them, I mean,” he said hurriedly.

“What is with yours and Armie’s obsession with banana pancakes?” She laughs. “You’re sweet, Timmy. Good night.”

“Good night, Liz.”

Timmy ends the call and finds himself humming “Banana Pancakes” to himself as they goes to call an Uber.

###  
The Hammers’ House, an hour later

Timmy enters Armie’s sick room and pulls up a chair next to the bed where Armie is lying, looking a little pale and sweaty, golden hair plastered to his forehead, cracker crumbs in his chest hair.

“Hey Arms. How are you feeling?” Timmy’s voice is full of concern.

Armie looks Timmy up and down and feigns surprise. “Who the fuck are you? Are you here to pump my gas or..” He gives him a suggestive glance.

“STFU asshole. It’s called high fashion. OFFW is all the rage in Milan.”

“You look so. I don’t know,” Armie gestures to Timmy. “With that big white shirt. Virginal, he smirks. “Two inches proud.” Armie says, very proud of himself.

“Oh my god, Timmy splutters in his high nervous voice. You saw that? Motherfucker.” Timmy’s neck gets splotchy and he scratches it. Armie watches him.

“You’re very talented. I’ve seen all of your stuff. Just like you’ve seen all of mine.” Armie says very matter of factly.

Timmy gulps and touches his neck. “Stalker.” His leg starts bouncing.

Armie sits up a little. “Excuse me? I think you mean stanner. And anyway, I wasn’t the one stanning you before we met.”

“Okay, old man. Look at you proving how hip you are, knowing the lingo and all that.” Timmy pauses, looks down and whispers, “That’s just because I was a nobody.”

“And also underage.”

“Um yeah that too.” Timmy starts fidgeting even more in his chair.

Armie who has been watching him like a sleepy hawk since he arrived breaks into laughter.

Timmy looks away, embarrassed. “Are you even sick, dude? I think you just wanted to bust my chops.”

“Can’t I be both?” Armie gives him a mischievous grin, blue eyes twinkling.

Timmy can’t help it. He grins right back. “Liz said you were asking for me? Is that true?”

Armie nods. “True.”

“Are you still delirious?”

“Does it look like I’m delirious to you?”

“I don’t know,” Timmy sounds skeptical. “You could be acting.” Timmy smiles.” It would be kind of fun if you were.”

“What? Acting or delirious?”

“I don’t know, brother. I don’t know.”

“I’m actually sick, T. I know I’m joshing and shit, but I just appear high functioning. That’s my blessing and my curse. I actually really do need you here. Want you here.” Armie places his hand ever so gently on Timmy’s left shoulder.

Timmy tries not to visibly melt into his touch. “Okay. But I’m not picking the cracker crumbs out of your chest hair.”

“You were staring my chest huh?” Armie’s right hand goes to his chest and plays with his golden hair.

“Dude. You were shirtless for the world to see.”

“And you showed the world. Not the secretive and mysterious Timmy we all know and love.” Armie looks at him fondly and Timmy feels guilt punch him in the gut.

“Hey man, I hope you’re not pissed about that. I didn’t expect to have a camera trained on me--”

“Nope. Not pissed. About that.” Armie gave him a very pointed look. 

Timmy knew what he was pissed about and opened his mouth to apologize when Armie started speaking again.

“I do have a great body, don’t I?” Armie flexes and Timmy’s eyes widen. “Say it,” he commands.

“What? Nothing I haven’t seen before.”

“Oh I see. Little Timmy Chalamet came to play.”

“Always, dude.” The two bros gaze at each other for a while until Timmy breaks the staring contest. “Seriously, what do you need?”

“Some more Pedialyte would be nice, Sweet Tea.”

Timmy lights up at his nickname. He loves when Armie calls him that. “Your wish is my command, Mr. Hammer.” He bows and leaves the room to grab the drink from the kitchen.

“Wouldn’t that be nice,” Armie whispers to himself.

###  
Timmy strides back in the room with a fresh glass of Pedialyte on ice.

“Here you go, Arms,” he tries to hand Armie the glass. “I know it’s not your favorite, but it will help you get better.”

“I’m sorry can you- I can’t- fuck this is embarrassing. I’m feeling kind of weak and don’t want to spill it on myself,” Armie mumbles, turning red.

“I’ve got you,” says Timmy, moved by his vulnerability. He helps Armie sit up, electricity zinging through his body when he touches his friend’s naked back. “Here,” he carefully brings the drink close to Armie’s lips, trying not to stare at how pink they are. Armie takes a delicate sip. “More?” Armie nods. Timmy tips the glass and some Pedialyte dribbles down his chin, his neck and his chest. “Shit man! Sorry dude!” Timmy looks for something to mop him up with and decides his shirt is best. He hikes it up and wipes Armie’s face and neck tenderly.

“Don’t ruin your shirt, dude,” Armie says quietly.

“Shut up.” Timmy is concentrating on blotting his chest.

“It’s high fashion.” Armie is feeling a little bad that his friend’s shirt is now stained bright red.

“Shut it, Hammer. I’m trying to clean you up.”

“You could have used a napkin. Or a tissue.”

“I don’t care, man.”

“Don’t forget the cracker crumbs.” 

“Okay.” Timmy tries to brush the cracker crumbs off Armie’s chest with his soaked shirt.

“You’re going to need some water since I’m kind of itchy and sticky now. Not a great combination. I’m already feeling like crap.” Armie moans in misery.

“What do you want, Armie? A nice sponge bath?” Timmy joked.

“I don’t have the energy to wash myself. Liz said you wouldn’t mind.”

“She did not.” Timmy sounds shocked.

“Did too.”

“I’ll get a wet paper towel but that’s the extent of it.”

“Please? I really feel like crap. I hate having to ask you. I know we’re friends but you didn’t sign up to be my nurse tonight, especially with tomorrow uh being what it is.” Actors tend not to mention the names of awards shows when they are talking to each other because they are a superstitious bunch. Armie turns his full charm on to 100 just with his golden boy muvi star gaze and Timmy is suddenly breathless. Because his best friend is so handsome it’s stupid sometimes and because he knows what Armie isn’t bringing up. He feels awful that he hurt him by forgetting to mention him on stage. He never wants to hurt him. Teasing is one thing but this was a dick move on his part, even though he didn’t mean it. He’s so fucking mad at himself. Feels so ashamed. Hurting Armie only hurts himself. He tries to convey all of this with his eyes. Pussy, he berates himself.

“Okay, okay. If that’s what you need, man. I’m here.” He pats Armie’s hand and stands. ”I’ll uh get a sponge and some water and be right back.”

“Yup, and after that you can help me into the shower and apply spray tan because I’m looking a little Timmy pale right now.” Armie joked.

“Sure.” Timmy turned away before he could see Armie’s jaw drop. Timmy was actually serious. Wtf was going on? Maybe he was delirious after all?

###

“Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes!” exclaimed Armie when Timmy came back in the room.

“I’ve literally been gone for like a minute, dude.” Timmy chuckled and put down his sponge and little bucket of water on a side table.

“You have?” Armie looked confused.

“You don’t remember?” Timmy asks, concerned. “You made fun of my shirt.”

“That is something I would do.”

“What’s hurting you right now? Is it your head? Your stomach?”

“I don’t know. I am feeling kind of warm.”

Timmy placed his cool long fingers on Armie’s temple. “Yeah, you do feel warm.” Timmy dips the sponge into the water and glides it gently across Armie’s face. “How does that feel?”

“Mmm. More please.”

Timmy dips the sponge again and moistens Armie’s lips with it, swallowing hard seeing them glistening and wet. He resists tracing them with his fingertips. “Thirsty?”

“Later.”

“Later.” Timmy snorts at how such a simple word has such a double meaning now and continues his tender ministrations. He drags the sponge down Armie’s neck and around the back to the base of his skull, his fingers brushing against Armie’s impossibly soft hair. The wet sponge travels down and around Armie’s chest. Timmy’s movements are achingly slow as he travels over the well sculpted chest of his best friend. The only sounds in the room are Armie’s breathing, his breathing, and the sluicing of the sponge and the splash as it dips into the water before being raised dripping to attend to Armie’s body again.

“Make sure you get all of it, “Armie commanded.

“All of it.” Timmy repeats, mesmerized by the now gleaming luxuriant chest hair so different than his hairless chest. Timmy puts down the sponge and runs his fingers through Armie’s hair. “Is this okay?” he whispers. “Want to make sure I get all the crumbs.”

“Just pretend I’m a monkey and you’re picking out my gnats,” Armie says, eyes closed.

“Gross, dude.” Timmy pulls at a piece of cracker stuck right under his breastbone and Armie doesn’t even flinch even though Timmy has yanked a hair. “Sorry!”

“You know I don’t mind.” Timmy flushes, remembering all the hair pulling that went on during their movie and says nothing. He finishes with sponging off the top half of Armie’s body and hesitates now when confronted with what lies under the sheet. He’s seen it, he’s touched it, but he hasn’t um washed it. He’s never done this before with anyone. This seems more intimate then their most intimate love scene somehow.

“Um…” he says. Super uncomfortable.

“Timmy, I can feel you worrying. Just work around it. You don’t have to wash my d-”

“Ok, got it.”

“Just pretend you’re my massage therapist masquerading as a nurse. You just scraped my fascia and now it’s on to the rest of the body. Just undrape whatever body part you are sponge bathing and then redrape it.”

Timmy just stares at him. Wtf is Armie talking about drapes for?

Armie coughs. “Okay, I’m going to stop talking now because my throat hurts.”

“You need some more Pedialyte?”

“Nah, I’m good man. Wouldn’t want you to spill anymore on me.”

“Ass!” Timmy slaps his chest with the sponge.

“Security! My nurse is being abusive!” Armie and Timmy start laughing uncontrollably until Armie starts having a coughing fit.

“Poor baby,” coos Timmy. Armie sticks his tongue out at him and Timmy drips some water into his mouth from a clean cup of water. Anything to stall for time. “Just think of it as more Oscar prep.” Beneath his now trembling hands, Armie laughed silently. “I’ll get you well again. I promise. You’re going to be there, dude. You have to. It’s our movie. A chronicle of the time we spent together. I don’t want to be there without you. There’s no Elio without Oliver.” Timmy felt on the verge of tears. 

He stopped and risked a glance at Armie’s face. Armie’s eyes looked bright and full of love and were a little misty as well. Armie reached for Timmy’s hand and brought it to his heart. 

“You’re here too, “Armie said with some effort, pressing his hand on top of Timmy’s. “Not. Just. Luca.” He grinned at his young friend.

Timmy took Armie’s other hand and brought it to his rapidly beating heart. “Same, brother.”

Timmy and Armie just smiled at each other, happy to look deep into each other’s eyes. Armie coughed and felt Armie’s forehead again. It was burning up. He could do this. Timmy took a deep breath. He was going under. He couldn’t help but see the bulge pushing up the thin fabric. Armie was huge! He had to resist the urge to stroke the top of the sheet. Timmy also couldn’t help noticing that he was getting hard. So fucking embarrassing. It’s not that Armie hadn’t seen him get hard or even felt it before—but that was before. In Crema. In movie land. This was the real world. Timmy and Armie were supposed to leave Elio and Oliver behind in Italy. Because that’s all this was, right? Character bleed? Blurred lines that would soon becomes clear and straight again? It was just such a meaningful and intimate and intense film. That’s all. Just some residual yearning or some shit he wasn’t going to be thinking about now, or probably ever—especially with Liz sleeping a few doors away. No way he was ruining either friendship tonight. No matter how fucking turned on he was. Stupid beautiful Armie and his stupid beautiful body. He was a man. He’d never been with a man. Ugh. He had to stop it now. Before things got out of control. His eyes darted to Armie’s whose eyes were closed before trying to adjust himself. He really hoping Armie wouldn’t pop open and detect the rapid swelling in his pants that were getting tighter by the minute. Wtf hadn’t he changed into sweatpants? Ugh. This was going to be uncomfortable. Timmy slowly raised the sheet, awkwardly tucked it behind Armie’s right knee, narrowly avoiding a ball graze, picked up the sponge again and continued his task, trying not to let his eyes stray to the bulge under the sheet. Timmy would never do this for another friend. But Armie? He wasn’t lying in the CMBYN commentary. Armie was everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay folks, I think I've got my chapters nicely corralled under one fic heading now. Haha.
> 
> Already working on Chapter 3 which is all about the Oscars and red velvet cake because you know. Will the boys finally get a taste of each other? We'll see :P
> 
> Thanks for all the kudos and comments. They are balm to the soul of this aspiring novelist:P
> 
> And to the fandom writers: you are so fucking amazing. The quality of your work astounds me on a daily basis. More!

**Author's Note:**

> This might shape up to be a multi chapter fic. Writers are light starved sharks feeding off kudos and comments so please leave one if you liked this and thanks for reading!


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